


there's a love between us still (but something's changed and i don't know why)

by shortitude



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, SO. MUCH. PORN, Sometimes PWP, sometimes plot and then porn, usual tags apply
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2016-04-29
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shortitude/pseuds/shortitude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of drabbles/fics in which a zombie and an earthquake have a lot of sex and live happily ever after. Tumblr prompts filled. (title from "touch" by shura)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. powers during sex

**Author's Note:**

> for **zauberer_sirin** , who asked for "powers during sex", like i absolutely knew she would.

First time she does it, he doesn’t realize it, too invested in  _her_  and how he’s inside her and how gorgeous she is above him,  _holy fucking hell_ , how gorgeous she is. He prides himself in being a very active participant when it comes to sex, but this first time he is floored,  _floored_  by Skye. Daisy. Fuck. 

 _Literally_  floored, too, because they never made it to the actual bed. Thankfully the floor is clean and there’s no risk of rug burn in the morning, and he would not actually care about it if there were. Because, he’s kissing her collarbone while unzipping the jacket of her suit. Because, her strong thighs clamp around his waist and bring her closer against him, place her right against his very embarrassing erection, and they forget there’s a bed literally four steps to the right afterwards. 

First time she does it, he is murmuring her name like a litany against her neck, _Skye, Daisy, Daisy, Daisy, Skye_ , and he’s distraught (embarrassingly distraught) by the feel of her clenching down around his cock to notice she’s sneaked one hand between them. He feels a tickle against his pelvic bone, and then doesn’t think further, because she’s coming with a breathless  _Phil_ , and he is gone. He’s  _gone_. 

Second time she does it, it’s twenty minutes later, when they’ve had time to linger, to touch each other through the aftermath, to pick each other up and get to the bed already. He brings it up, tries to be nonchalant about it, all “So did you just vibrate your fingers against your clit.” 

And Daisy, who has had time to come to terms with the fact that they’re here now, naked and sated on each other, grins at him widely. “Yep. Wanna see?” 

It shouldn’t make him choke on his own breath to be so aware of how much her powers excite him (or the words are ‘make him hard’), but he does and has to nod mutely for lack of a better reaction. 

So the second time, it’s both of them on their backs in Coulson’s bed, Daisy with her legs wide open and his flesh hand between them, her hand covering his, the air under her fingers humming with vibrations. She’s wet, but “That’s all you,” she tells him, her smile teasing a groan out of him. 

So, maybe not that sated on each other yet. 

(Third time she does it, he’s inside her again, and he feels it, he feels it, it’s all he feels for  _days_.) 


	2. platonic: you're doing it wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newest non-recruit wants to know what's the what with Daisy and Coulson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for **notcaycepollard** , featuring what the title says, AND important appearances from JOEY GUTIERREZ! MACK! Hunter! And another Latina Inhuman I've suddenly grown very very fond of.

It’s a four-people mission, so four people go in. It’s Joey and Daisy on the offense, because this will be good for Joey, good practice and good to help him realize it’s not all over and he has a future in making a difference, in standing up for the defenseless (like he once was). Mack covers the rear, and Hunter stands back for extraction in case there’s a need for it. 

Nobody really knows why Coulson joins the team. He claims he wants to observe how their newest recruit handles being on the field the second time, which puts Joey on the fence a little about whether or not he can do it. 

“It’s fine, we’ve all been there,” Daisy tells him, just after they land. At his confused look, she elaborates with, “When the Director’s watching? You tend to wanna impress the guy.” 

There’s a snort from the peanut gallery, and Joey glances back to see Hunter and Mack share  _a look_. They probably know what that’s all about better than he does. It’s not like he’s been out of his room a lot, even after control was a thing he managed to have over his abilities. 

The mission goes smoothly, mostly. Price’s men are sniffing around, HYDRA is sniffing around, and yet in the end it’s still SHIELD who saves the day. Joey doesn’t kill anyone, or bring down a building or set a car on fire (unintentionally; there’s that one getaway HYDRA van and it feels  _good_  to take down nazi-scumbags), so all in all it’s a good day. The Inhuman they find, a sixteen-year old girl named Rosa, gets set up in the common area instead of the containment cell, and honestly that’s fine with Joey. She doesn’t exactly melt anything unintentionally (she just lifts things ten times her weight without breaking a sweat, which is unfair). She’s still just a kid in the same system Daisy was in, so she gets cookies; Daisy likes to keep snacks on hand for herself, and now for him too, for after missions. 

He gets cookie too, a pat from her, a smile and “Good job, hot stuff.” 

“That’s so not going to be my codename,” he shouts, mouth full on a bite of chocolate chip cookie, as she walks up the stairs towards Coulson’s office. 

“I don’t know, it has a nice ring to it,” Hunter says, joining them on the sofa with an open beer. With Mack on the wheel, it should be smooth sailing back to the Playground. Joey can tell by the beer in Hunter’s hand being half full now. 

“So, Miss Johnson’s pretty cool,” their guest pipes up, finally, after having inhaled four cookies. “Is she gonna be strict? I figured I should ask, since I’m gonna be on the team, right? And I should know which one’s the cool boss and which one’s the strict one.” 

“Oh, they’re both pretty much both,” says Hunter. 

“She’s the cool one,” says Joey. The two men share a smile. 

“Yeah, the Director’s a total tough nut to crack. Our pal Hot Stuff here’s got a bit of a complex-”

“Do not.”

“A  _guys in suits_  complex.” 

Joey throws the cookie at Hunter, and presses his lips together. He does not. (There was that one guy he dated for a couple of months, but it’s not like he’s been comparing Coulson to him. They don’t look anything alike.) Coulson’s just the Director, and of course he has to make a good impression, because he wants to stay on Daisy’s team, and do good, given how the alternative is take a false identity and hide for the rest of his life again. (Never again.) Either way, Hunter’s an asshole. (British accent isn’t even hot anymore.)

“Don’t mind him,  _chica_ ,” he tells the Rosa. “ _No sabe lo que dice_.” He can tell she’s putting up a brave front, asking questions about Daisy and Coulson, assessing the two of them, just to see what this team of crime-fighters that rescued her is all about. He can tell, because he did it too, albeit differently in his time. “Besides, you’re still young, so you don’t need to worry about bosses. We’ll make sure you’re safe, but nobody’s making you join no team before you’re an adult.”

He’s pretty sure Daisy’ll agree; hell, Coulson too. 

“First of all, rude,” says Hunter. “Because I  _so sé lo que digo._ And let the girl ask questions, she’ll be hanging out with us for a while, team or no team. I’m a fountain of infinite wisdom, Rosa, ask anything you want.” 

“Are Miss Johnson and your Director together? Because when we ran on the plane he only hugged her...” 

Hunter snorts, then leans forward, like they’ve just hit the motherload of subjects he’s super into discussing. Joey knows, Joey’s heard all about it. 

“Technically, no, they’re just friends,” says Hunter, word for word what he told Joey in his days. “But that’s the version they give everyone. Purely professional. Absolutely platonic. Nothing there.” 

Rosa asks: “And?” 

Joey mouths the words he knows Hunter’s about to say, as he says them: “If that’s platonic, they’re doing it wrong.”

 

 

 

 

“Did you just sneeze?” 

Daisy pulls her hand away from where she raised it to cover her mouth, because Inhuman microbes are an unknown factor still, and has the decency to at least look sheepish. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Are you catching a cold? I can make you soup tonight, maybe-”

“Phil, I’m fine. I am not getting sick. It’s probably just the guys talking about me, I can feel it. And see it.” She points over his shoulder, where the surveillance screen from the common area of Zephyr One reveal Joey and Hunter entertaining Rosa by mimicking something straight out of a soap opera. 

(It’s her and Coulson, she knows. It’s them after the mission in Perú, where shit almost hit the fan and he’d ran out of the plane to hug her. They’d barely stopped from making out in front of the whole team right there.) 

“Joey’s getting really good at imitating you,” Coulson remarks, and then turns around to smile at her. “I’m still making you dinner.”

“O _kay_ , Director,” she acquiesces, not that bothered by his tendency to spoil her whenever he can, not at all. “But I’m hungry for something else right now.” 

“Some platonic makeouts?” Phil teases, and kisses her shoulder.

“I’m gonna platonically have you right on this desk.” She nips at his ear, where she can reach him.

“I just had it repainted, Daisy.” And yet he's unzipping the jacket of her suit, methodically slow. (He likes this part, she knows.)

She waggles her eyebrows at him. “It’s fine, it’s platonic so it’s not gonna be dirty at all.”

He snorts. “That’s a lie.”

“A _platonic_ lie.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _No sabe lo que dice_ : He doesn't know what he's saying.   
> _Sé lo que digo_ : I know what I'm saying


	3. modern warfare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come over here and make me."

“I just want you all to know that this is going to end very badly for all of you,” Daisy announces, just before another snowball hits her square in the chest with a soft _piff_. 

Laughter – deep, booming, vibrations that belong to Mack ( _et tu, fucking Brute?_ ) – reaches her from behind the thick trees. 

Of all the ways they could welcome her back into the thick of it, like a casual karaoke night or a round of drinks (Coulson’s treat), they choose this weirdly frat-like baptism by snow. It’s a snowball fight, and she hasn’t been in one since she was twelve and still allowed to have fun and cheat and not get scolded for it. 

The fact that a group of mature adults, in charge of protecting the world, has taken a break just to gang up on her is as surreal as it comes. But their laughter, the vibrations of their joy, oh she has missed those. Exile can take a hike, she’ll take being the target of snowballs any day. 

And then one hits her in the back of her neck. She yelps, snow melting down her back, cold _cold cold fucking cold_. She whirls around, all vengeance, and finds Coulson pressing together another snowball. 

“Drop it,” she warns him, a smile trying to tug her lips up.

“Come over here and make me, Agents Johnson.” 

Daisy lifts one eyebrow. She lifts her hand in a clenched fist, and with ten feet of distance between them, she looks down at the snow in his hands, and unclenches her fist with a soft _boom_  noise. The snowball explodes in Coulson’s face. “That’s not -”

“I don’t play fair,” she cuts him, smug, and makes the trees shake, turning the rest of her hidden teammates into snowmen. A collective _aw, MAN_  comes out from where they’re at, and Daisy laughs. 

“Well, you all have fun, I’m gonna make myself some hot chocolate.” 

She steps back inside the Playground, and locks them out under May and Andrew’s amused looks. The last thing they hear is Coulson’s contrite _Daisy_ , and then silence. 

“Does he still keep his best scotch in his office?” she asks May. Andrew lets out a laugh, and follows them without making a single comment about how they’ll likely be stuck out there another hour. (Daisy will let them in after five minutes. She’s not a monster.) 

It’s good to be home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't mind me, i'm gonna just upload a lot of backdated drabbles from tumblr onto here (and hope i don't accidentally post someone else's fic ???)


	4. degrees of separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I think I love you and I'm terrified." Dark times happen to the best of people.

The night they pass the Registration Act, Daisy comes to his office for the first time since he asked for a smaller office; it’s not as fancy as his Director lair, but she supposes that this is his way of saying that he doesn’t need any of those gadgets and collectibles, that he has no attachments anymore. 

Daisy recognizes patterns in people. She senses lies, too, in their vibrations. When Coulson says “I can compartmentalize”, his body says _I’m one big fat liar_. She lets him have his lies for almost half a year, and then they make Inhumans stand in line and get stamped and nobody sees how creepy and _weird_  and  _terrifying_ it is to have this happen in this day and age. 

(Somewhere out there, she thinks they’re very likely building camps and calling them containment centers.) 

Her and Coulson, they drink because they’re bitter tonight. Because the world has gone to hell and in some way, both of them believe that it’s their fault. Coulson, Daisy thinks, believes it because he’s a self-sacrificing man with a hero complex the size of the Empire State building and a bias towards _her_  that she’s always seen clearly but never wanted to acknowledge for what it is. But Daisy, she has all the right to think that this is in part her fault, because it was by her doing that a rise in the numbers of Inhumans appeared in the past year. 

(All those people, all her people, barely getting the time to adjust to their new abilities and accept them before some men in suits labelled them all monsters. She can’t take it.)

They’re quiet drinkers, her and Coulson. They watch each other the entire evening, and Daisy knows from the way he looks at her that he knows. He knows what’s coming next, and he knows why she’s getting him drunk. (He’d try to stop her. She’d let him.) 

It’s almost morning when she takes the empty glass from Coulson’s hand and pulls the blanket over his sleeping body, and thinks that this might be the most painful thing yet. (There have only really been two times she’s had to lose a family that have ripped her apart, and this is the second.)

She kisses his forehead, selfishly memorizes his scent and his warmth and the vibrations he emits when he’s calm and he looks like he can almost be happy. (She’ll use these memories, later, when she leads another group of imprisoned Inhumans to the quinjet she stole from SHIELD and brings the roof down on the containment center.) 

“I think I - “ she whispers, and can’t, can’t voice it, because she imagines Phil wanting her to say it when he’s awake. “I’m terrified,” she tells his sleeping form, and brushes her thumb one last time over the crinkle of his frown. Then, she leaves, because it’s the right thing to do, and the necessary one. 

(She writes it on the back of the coaster she’s set his empty glass down on: _when the time is right, I’ll return. Don’t look for me. Stay safe._ She doesn’t sign it; he’ll know.) 


	5. fingertip kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coulson insists he's not injured.

“It’s not broken,” he murmurs, and she can feel him watch her while she fusses over him. She doesn’t understand the amused fondness in his tone, nor why the hint of exasperation, but okay - whatever. It’s not broken, he says, but she has to make sure. 

She did just lift a fucking locker off his arm, and then they skedaddled, and she _thinks_  she remembers seeing him cradle his arm to his chest as they ran, but between the adrenaline rush and the keeping them both safe until they got to the Quinjet, well. 

Now, Mack’s flying them back to base and the Inhuman they went to contact is sleeping safely in the cell - one teenager less to end up in Hydra’s hands, thank god (thank Daisy) - so she can fuss. 

“Daisy,” Coulson repeats, snapping her out of her trance. She pauses in the delicate examination of his fingers, where she’s been feeling for swollen bones and cartilages. She looks up, and his blue eyes are shining with mischief and amusement, so whatever she’s doing isn’t so bad, right? 

“What?”

“That’s the prosthetic,” he points out, and barely masks a grin when she falters and gets flustered. “So really, trust me, it’s not broken.” 

“…oh.” So now she’s just holding his hand, and she hasn’t held this hand since it happened. It feels real, but if she had been focusing she’d notice a distinct lack of vibrations coming from it - she didn’t notice it first because Coulson’s vibrations are, in general, so loud - so she’s ridiculous, basically. 

She lets out a relieved little laugh, and he joins her, the tension dispelling in the most natural of ways. 

As usual, it doesn’t take a lot for Daisy to remember that however complicated the world gets, Coulson makes it simple for her: Do good. Be good. Fight for justice. Don’t trust the system, _change_  the system. At least we’re in the dark together. 

“I got carried away,” she excuses herself, ducking her gaze as a last resort. She’s got no reason now to be holding his hand, but she has no wish to let it go. When she parts with this anchor, she does it recklessly. Lifts his hand up and bends the rest of the way and kisses his fingertips, two at a time. 

It leaves them both on the edge of something, on the edge of change. She notices it in his eyes when she pulls back and looks up at him, when he doesn’t quite let his hand drop at his side. There’s a moment. 

And then the plane shakes and jolts them out of it. 

(Oh well, Daisy thinks, another time.)


	6. we deserve a soft epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of kisses.

**collarbone kiss**

She falls asleep on him around midnight, during an _X-files_  marathon. She listens to Coulson’s vibrations, her head on his chest, his hand in his hair. Everything about it is new, except the comfort and the ease she feels when she’s near him; even when there’s tension - god knows they swim in it sometimes - there is just something _familiar_  about being around Coulson. 

How they end up tangled together on the couch in his office watching a cult TV show about aliens is normal stuff. She breaks up with Lincoln, he snaps at her something ugly before leaving, she wanders into the kitchen at midnight for ice-cream and Phil is there, like he knows (well, he’s seen it, _he knows_ ). They end up sharing the ice-cream in his office, and putting on _X-files_  because, well – there are greater things at work, beyond Daisy being single again. 

The Registration Act will be passed tomorrow, and Daisy knows she’s going to run; she hasn’t told anyone, but she feels like Coulson knows this has been building up too, because she noticed him stocking up the SUV despite there being no mission to take it out. 

The ice-cream doesn’t taste sweet under the circumstances, but Phil looking at her and saying he’s sorry, saying _I wish it wasn’t like this_ , about how her people are being targetted and how she’ll be on the run and how they’ll not see each other again after tonight (for a while). It’s a few sparse words, but Daisy gets them. 

Before the second episode starts, they’re hugging; halfway through the second episode she’ll admit that it’s actively cuddling. She falls asleep somewhere around midnight, and wakes up to Coulson’s steady heartbeat and his arms tightening around her. 

Sleepily, she presses her lips to his collarbone, and smiles when it makes him sigh and relax. Tonight there’s just this. Tomorrow, she runs, but oh at least she has something more to fight for, something to return to. 

**shoulder kiss**

It’s months before she gets to come back to the Playground, and her lifestyle during the time isn’t the most glamorous. 

When the Quinjet finally picks them up (her and her Secret Warriors, waiting at a safehouse in Venezuela of all places), she actually asks Joey to pinch her, make sure this is real. Inhumans are back in the good graces of mankind, her people are allegedly safe, and Daisy - who is so used to living out of a van, _really_ , she shouldn’t mind - gets to go home. 

The Director is the first to step off the Quinjet to greet them, and the first words Daisy has for him, with the sun glaring in her eyes and the wind making her hair flutter dramatically, are: “I stink.” 

He pulls her into a hug anyway, and she doesn’t even care. He doesn’t either, not for her smell nor for the audience; she feels his lips on her shoulder, the desperate little laugh he buries against her hair, and hugs him tighter. “I’m home.” 

“Welcome back.”

**spine kiss**

“By the way, I’ve been learning Spanish.” 

There’s a hum from behind her, which translates into:  _Really, do tell, I’m listening_. Contrary to that, there’s the feel of his lips tracing kisses up the length of her spine. She smiles and buries her face in the pillow, inhaling his scent - their scent - and feeling so damn happy and so damn relieved. 

“Yeah,” she tries again, pretending not to be affected whatsoever. “Joey’s been helping out and Yo-Yo’s my practice buddy. She knows a lot of dirty words, for someone so tiny.” 

Not affected whatsoever, totally pulling it off. And then he licks up her spine and bites at the nape of her neck before covering her body with his. “Díme algo,” he murmurs. 

Daisy’s brain has taken a vacation somewhere around the nape kiss, so it barely registers. Still, she chokes out: “Bésame,” and rolls over on her back to pull him closer. 

“That’s just the title of a song,” he murmurs against her lips, pretending to be unaffected himself; his vibrations and the arousal he presses between her legs says otherwise, but _okay, Phil_. 

She lets out a laugh. “Oh, just shut up and do it anyway.”

He does.


End file.
